


Gunpowder Grey, Flashes of White

by oldamongdreams



Series: Colours of Your Voice [1]
Category: James Bond (Movies), Sherlock (TV), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Dinner dates, Eve and Q are bros, First Kiss, First Time, M/M, Pre-Skyfall, Pre-Slash, Q Backstory, Q is a creature of habit, Synaesthesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-25 01:40:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/633728
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oldamongdreams/pseuds/oldamongdreams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Sherlock who first told Quentin that most people didn’t see Vivaldi as a never ending string of pale blue lines, the Prime Minister’s voice on the telly as a thick paint stroke of forest green, the sound of the traffic when they ventured into London as gunshot blasts of grey and red and orange.<br/>(Or, the one where Q has Synaethesia)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Q was a creature of habit. He had always been, even when he was a child and Mycroft was spending his days studying and Sherlock was terrorizing the staff. Wake up, put on socks that will dampen the sound of his feet on the wood floors. Read or tinker for a few hours before tentatively venturing downstairs, bracing himself for the cacophony of colours and sounds that he knew would assault him.

It had been Sherlock who had first told him that the way he saw the world was different. Sherlock was different too, with his habit of seeing things that no one else could and his intense interest in chemistry. Q, then Quentin, used to creep into Sherlock’s room late at night, skirting the creaky floorboards that shoot colours like fireworks in front of his eyes, and crawl into bed beside him, drifting off to the sounds of Sherlock’s voice, grey-blue rings behind his eyelids.

It was Sherlock who first told Quentin that most people didn’t see Vivaldi as a never ending string of pale blue lines, the Prime Minister’s voice on the telly as a thick paint stroke of forest green, the sound of the traffic when they ventured into London as gunshot blasts of grey and red and orange.

Quentin chose his classes in university more based off of how easily he could ignore the flashes and spirals of colour that accompanied the professors’ monologues than on the material. He spent most of his time locked in his single room (he scared his roommate off after a week of snapping whenever he spoke and installing viruses on every piece of electronic equipment that he owned). He fell into a pool of ones and zeros, relishing the challenge and the flashes of white at the edge of his vision that accompanied the sound of his fingers on the keys.

By his third year of uni, Quentin had lost himself in the cerebral high of hacking, rebuilding himself out of ones and zeros and silence, emerging from his room (which had grown to hold more electronics than clothing and food over time) only when sleep or class demanded it. When in class, he would slip in a small pair of earplugs, reading the professor’s lips and enjoying a break from the fireworks of colour that would never ceased to appear as his classmates whispered and fidgeted around him. It was a sensory deprivation that he had never experienced before, and Quentin marvelled at it.

Then came the night, drunk off the high of success and the blue-green voice of his lover (a colour that matched the man’s eyes, for Quentin had come to the point where those were the two factors that mattered most when he decided the monotony of university would be improved by a seduction), where Quentin, a ripple of blue-green-white dancing around him, hacked the servers of MI6 as a dare.

That is where the story of Quentin, a story that had been teetering on the edge of oblivion with every government server he hacked, came to an end. A boy who is barely a man shivering in a cell that held no colours for him to focus on, not ever when he spoke aloud to himself.

Quentin died in that cell, and it was R who emerged as the new protégé of the current Q. Geoffrey has grey eyes that matched the heather grey of his voice, and Quentin liked him at once.

His life as R is not much different than his life as Quentin. He is still a creature of habit, leaving work in the middle of the night or not at all, needing a cup of Earl Grey before work and another whenever whatever he is working on becomes a problem. He still wears socks to avoid the noises and colours that come pouring out of his floorboards in his cramped little flat, and he still prefers the company of computers to that of people.

Nothing changes.

Not until an explosion destroys MI6 headquarters and Q finds himself promoted, his mentor as dead as the new darkness that surrounds M whenever she speaks.

Though Quentin, rebuilt again as Q out of ones and zeros and grief, has never met the infamous 007 before, he has heard of him. Everyone in MI6 has, with the way the agent blows holes in regimes and trains alike, dying again and again but never staying dead. He has become something of a legend down in Q-Branch, the way all the agents do at one point or another, and Q has listened to more rumours about the man with blue eyes that you could drown in and hands that were lethal even without weapons than he would like to admit.

What they don’t say, what none of the rumours see fit to mention, is Bond’s voice. It is low and rich, a colour that Q cannot yet define. It seems to change colour mid-air, varying its shade too quickly for Q to do more than reply to Bond’s snarky banter with some of his own and try to catch his breath.

If he knows anything, it’s that he wants to hear that voice again and again, until he can define it and lay it to rest along with the others.

It is a challenge Q is willing to take on, and the faint smile on Bond’s lips when he asks him to “bring all the equipment back in one piece,” his gaze lingering longer than is perhaps appropriate, gives Q the faintest sense that it will most definitely be worth his while.          

 


	2. Chapter 2

“Have you slept with him yet?” The voice was loud, a bright red that echoed through Q’s skull as he jumped.

“Moneypenny,” he said with a curt nod, setting his mug carefully out of range in case anyone else decided to sneak up on him.

“Well, have you?” She asked again, each tap of her foot spreading ripples through the lake of red that was quickly obliterating the string of numbers running through his brain.

Q held up one hand, stopping Eve before she could say anything else. He turned his focus to the screen in front of him, shutting her voice out in a way that had taken years to perfect, letting white sparks obscure his peripheral vision as he typed. After a few moments—or what felt like a few moments, Q would be the first to admit that he was awful at keeping track of time when he was working on a project—Q spun his chair back around to face Moneypenny and blinked once to clear his head.

“Sorry,” he said apologetically when he saw that her tapping foot had become even more impatient.

Eve shrugged briskly. “I suppose that’s what I get for distracting you from your numbers.” Her voice was more subdued now, its usual maroon instead of the violent red that had invaded Q’s head when she first showed up.

Q’s brain finally disengaged itself from the numbers on the screen behind him and he blinked in surprise. “I’m sorry, what?”

“Bond. Have you slept with him yet? I’m not going to blame you; everyone does at one point or another.”

Q rolled his eyes. “No, I have not slept with Bond. I do have some standards, despite what you think.”

Moneypenny rolled her eyes and claimed a chair from one of Q’s lackeys, dragging it up to his desk. “Don’t disassemble with me, Q. I know you, and I know that he’s exactly your type. Beautiful eyes, a beautiful voice, and a little bit dangerous.”

“I think 007 counts as more than ‘a little dangerous’, Eve.  And yeah,” he admitted, not looking at the woman next to him, “he is at that. But, I don’t know. He’s Bond. I don’t know if I want a one night stand, especially not if I’m going to be working with him afterward. Hell, I don’t even know if he likes men.”

“Oh, he does,” Moneypenny said with a smirk. “In fact, he was asking me about one just this morning.”

Q’s head snapped up, and he frowned. “Who?”

Eve stood and rolled her chair back to the side, picking up the paperwork she had brought in with her. “I’ll tell you tonight.” Q whined, and Eve smirked. “Consider it my way of making sure that you don’t ‘forget’ that you’re coming over and work all night instead.”

Q pouted, and went back to his numbers, listening to the silver ripples of Moneypenny’s footsteps grow thinner and fainter.

 

Moneypenny’s flat was comfortable, the result of living in one place long enough to leave a mark. She grinned at Q when he entered and patted the spot on the sofa next to her. Q slipped his shoes off but left his socks on before flopping on the sofa and draping his legs over Moneypenny’s lap.

“What’s the plan for tonight?” He asked as he scooted further into the sofa, tucking his toes under the cushion on Eve’s side.

“Inception, Independence Day, or The Princess Bride?”

 Q wrinkled his nose. “Your taste in movies is still horrid. Inception, I suppose. Subtitles?”

“Of course,” Eve replied smoothly, picking up her remote and queuing up the movie. “And we can’t all spend our free time watching episodes of Doctor Who repeatedly while tinkering with computers. Some of us actually have time to find _real_ entertainment.”

“I resent that,” Q said sulkily. “And if you say another word against Classic Who, I’m leaving right now.”

“No you’re not,” Eve drawled, shifting so that she was leaning into Q. “I have something you want, remember?”

On the screen in front of them the title sequence had begun to play, but Q was no longer paying attention.  “Does this mean you’re going to finally tell me?”

“Tell you what?” Eve asked innocently, her voice suddenly laced with silver as she stood and walked into the kitchen.

“You know exactly what, Eve,” Q said, following her and perching on a stool as she pulled two mugs from the cupboard and turned the kettle off. “Bond.”

“Why Q, is this your way of admitting you’re interested in him?”

“It’s my way of telling you I’ll pay for the takeout if you tell me now.” Q spun the blue mug he had claimed as his own months before on the counter once before placing it back in line with Eve’s.

“Deal.” Eve poured tea into both mugs before beckoning Q back toward the television. When they were comfortably seated again, Q looked at her expectantly.

“Well?”

“The mission reports don’t mention gender, most of the time. Bond does, every now and then. When he’s drunk but not morose, and you can get him to talk for a few minutes before he sinks back into his head. Sometimes I get a few details from him. A name, something they said, something he did. All I’m saying is that he’s not as completely heterosexual as most people make him out to be.”

“Oh,” Q said quietly as he processed that information. “But still, that’s just…”

“…the mission.” Eve finished with a slight nod. “Yes. But he doesn’t talk about his personal life, and anyone who asks is likely to find his hands around their neck in the middle of the night. All I’m saying is don’t give it up as a last cause. The chance is there, if you want it.”

There was a slight stress on the word _if,_ a quiet note of grey threaded into her voice that gave Q pause. “What do you mean, _if_?”

“Q.” Eve reached for his hand and rubbed a small circle on it, her gaze fixed on the screen in front of her. “I know he’s gorgeous and smart and that I’d be a complete hypocrite if I warned you off of him. But you’ve got to understand, he’s James Bond, not just James, the agent that you trade sarcastic comments with. The people he seduces…well, they all have two things in common. He doesn’t care for them, and death courts them after he leaves. I know that it’s pointless to tell you to be careful when you’re at least as addicted to danger as he is. But think about it, for me.”

Q nodded at that and lapsed into silence for a moment. Everything Eve said was true, and he knew it. He didn’t want to be another notch in Bond’s bedpost, not if he was honest with himself. But he wanted Bond to be a notch in his own, and he wanted to wrap that beautiful voice around himself and map all the lines of colour that flowed through it.

“What about you?” He asked finally, his eyes fixed on Leonardo Dicapio’s lips as he soundlessly issued orders to his team. “You’re still alive. Hell, you’re still his friend.”

Eve laughed, and her whole body seemed to come back to life as she curled further into Q. “I killed him before he killed me,” she said with a dangerous smile, the one that always reminded Q how long she had been in the field before she switched to desk work. “I’m the exception.”

 

It was an hour later when the doorbell rang, and Q stirred slightly, shoving Eve to the side so he could sit up. “Bet that’s the takeaway,” he said, reaching around her to pause the movie. “Back in a mo.”

Q began talking before the door was opened, his mind still on the movie that he would never admit being sucked into. “Fifteen quid, right? Did you bring extra sauce this time? She’ll be pissed at me if I don’t come back with—” Q stopped midsentence and stared at the man in front of him. “You’re not—”

“No Q, I am bloody well not your delivery boy. Is Monneypenny here? This is her flat, is it not?”

The strong notes of his voice, almost as familiar as the blue-grey eyes and blood stains that always seemed to cover him after a mission were enough to render Q completely silent. He stepped aside, allowing James Bond to pass into the flat, and did his best to ignore the way his heart had sped up to match the colours circling Bond’s footsteps as he disappeared inside. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bond snorted. “What, you? I’ve seen you type on two different keyboards at once while barking orders to your minions, and you’re telling me you find the sounds of a movie distracting?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter took longer than anticipated. I should be getting back into a regular schedule now that I'm settled at uni once more. The next chapter should be both longer and slightly more interesting to the 00Q shippers. ;)  
> If you're interested in snippets or wring updates, my tumblr can be found at oldamongdreams.tumblr.com.

“Bond? What’s wrong?”

Eve was standing in front of the sofa, arms crossed in front of her chest and a worried expression on her face as she stared at Bond, worrying her lip.

“Does something have to be wrong?” Bond asked with a shrug that was just a touch too casual. Instead of remaining in front of Eve, he moved toward the kitchen.

“Does he often show up in your flat, covered in blood?”

Eve shrugged at Q and flopped back on the couch. “Every now and again, mostly since the old M died. I hear he used to break into her flat after missions. Now he occasionally shows up at mine to drink my scotch and avoid talking to anyone.” She beckoned Q back onto the couch and snuggled into him. “Sorry, Q. Wasn’t expecting him back so soon. Are you going to be okay?”

“I’m a professional, not a teenager with a crush. I work with him on a regular basis; I think I can handle a few hours in his company.”

Eve raised one eyebrow and Q swatted her hand away from his arm. “I can,” he insisted.

Eve just smirked, and raised her eyes to Bond, who had re-entered the room with a bottle of scotch and a glass. “Are you going to tell us what you are doing here?”

Bond shrugged, his eyes flicking from Eve to Q. “I intended to have a drink and borrow some bandages from you before reporting to Mallory. Had I known that you had…company…I would have gone to my flat instead.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “And though I’m sure Q is terribly disappointed that movie night was interrupted by a bleeding secret agent, I’m sure we’ll survive.”

Q shifted uncomfortably, not quite sure what to say when the words spoken between Bond and Eve had the strength of a friendship that not even one killing the other could break.

Luckily, the doorbell rang again and Q untangled his legs from Eve in order to answer it and get the takeaway.

“Did you get the sauce?” Eve asked when he returned, the air in the room somewhat less charged, and Q breathed a sigh of relief.

“Greedy,” he admonished her playfully. “See if I ever pay for takeout again.”

Eve stuck out her tongue at him, and accepted her food. Q moved to the floor in order to set his food on the coffee table and leaned back against the sofa.

“No one thought to get me anything? I’m hurt.”

Eve rolled her eyes. “And Q paid and everything. You’ve missed out in a lifetime opportunity.”

Bond attempted to give Q a sorrowful look, and Q smirked at him. “Drink your scotch, secret agent man. Next time you bring me back a piece of equipment that is completely intact, we’ll talk.”

“I meant to, this time,” Bond protested weakly. “The terrorists had other ideas.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Q said, waving his hand in the air. “It’s always the same excuse with you.” But he stood in order to hide the quirk of his lips, and fetched a bowl from the kitchen to spoon some food into for Bond. He handed it to the man upon re-entry and sat back down on the floor, leaning against Eve’s legs.

“Always good to have you owe me a favour. Besides, god knows when the last time you remembered to eat was.”

Bond opened his mouth to retort, but Eve cut him off. “Q, are we still watching this or what?”

Q blinked, and glanced at the scene that was still frozen on the television. “Oh, right. Yeah, might as well,” he said in a casual voice that in no way betrayed how much he wanted to see the ending.

Eve gave him a knowing smirk and hit play, and the small talk dissolved as Q and Eve were sucked back into the movie.

It took about fifteen minutes for Bond to ask the inevitable question. “Is there a reason we’re watching this on mute? It’s not like you have neighbours who are going to care if you watch movies at ten in the evening, Moneypenny.”

Eve glanced at Q, her foot tapping lightly against his hip. Q shrugged in response. He knew Bond well enough to know that the man would see it as nothing more than a liability, something to store at the back of his mind along with Q’s fear of planes just in case. And while Q wasn’t sure that he would ever have told Bond of his own volition, well, he didn’t see any outright harm in letting him know.

“It’s for me. I find it…distracting,” he said coolly.

Bond snorted. “What, you? I’ve seen you type on two different keyboards at once while barking orders to your minions, and you’re telling me you find the sounds of a movie distracting?”

“It’s not the sounds, not exactly. I have sythenasia. I see sounds as colours…sort of. It’s hard to explain, but the overload of sounds in a movie are distracting, yes.”

“You see sounds. As colours.” Bond repeated, looking sceptical.

“Yes. The colour seems to vary mostly on the pitch and volume of the sound, whereas the design it appears in is more related to the variation of notes. Or something. I’m not entirely sure, to be honest. It’s just there. I can wear earplugs at work when I need to, or noise cancelling headphones. I wear headphones on the tube, I learn to avoid the squeaky steps in my flat, and I watch movies with subtitles. It’s not a big deal.” His voice came out more defensive that he intended it to, and Moneypenny brushed her fingers softly against the back of Q’s neck.

“Christ. Is there anything about you that’s even the least bit ordinary?” Bond said with a shake of his head, looking more amused than anything else.

“No,” Eve said, her fingers running through Q’s hair. “He does it just to spite the rest of us. Unique in every way, our Quartermaster.”

Q felt a blush rising on his cheeks and batted Eve’s hand away. The rest of the movie was watched in a silence that was almost blinding to the young man who had been expecting anything but.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But despite all that, there was something different about Bond. He was dangerous, but as long as Q remained loyal to MI6 and England, he was fairly certain that Bond wouldn’t hurt him. Of course, the possibility of a real relationship with 007 was bordering on non-existent. More likely, if (when) Q gave in to his desires and when (if) Bond reciprocated them, it would be for one night, after which Bond would go about to seducing and killing the rest of the world and Q would be nothing more than a voice in his ear.

There was something incredibly alluring about Bond. Moneypenny hadn’t been lying where she told Q that Bond was his type. He liked dangerous men with pretty eyes, and it was an inclination that had gotten him in more trouble than he wanted to think about. Of the five men he had seriously dated, three had cheated on him, one had been physically abusive, and one just saw him as a pretty fuck for when he had nothing better to do. And though Q was no damsel in distress, he doubted he could hold his own against Bond if it came to that.

But despite all that, there was something different about Bond. He was dangerous, but as long as Q remained loyal to MI6 and England, he was fairly certain that Bond wouldn’t hurt him. Of course, the possibility of a real relationship with 007 was bordering on non-existent. More likely, if (when) Q gave in to his desires and when (if) Bond reciprocated them, it would be for one night only, after which Bond would go about to seducing and killing the rest of the world and Q would be nothing more than a voice in his ear.

He did what he always did when faced with a puzzle he couldn’t solve. He called Sherlock.

“Why is he different? Your John.” Q didn’t bother with an introduction or small talk, he didn’t need that when dealing with the only person who had understood him as a child. He knew that Sherlock would understand.

“I don’t know,” Sherlock replied. Q could count on one hand the number of times that he had heard Sherlock utter that phrase. “He just _is._ It’s a part of him, and I can’t separate it enough to tell you just what it is. Whatever it is, he always will be. He _stays,_ Quentin.”

Q knew that he was the only person privileged enough to still bear witness to the childlike disbelief and awe in Sherlock’s voice, and he smiled into the phone. “Of course he does, ‘Lock. I hope he’s making you eat and sleep as well.”

Sherlock sighed in exasperation. “Why is everyone so concerned with that?” He muttered, and Q laughed. They chatted for a few moments about Sherlock’s cases before Q had to get back to coding.

“What colour is he, Quentin?” Sherlock asked as they said goodbye.

“I don’t know,” Q said with a sigh. “He just _is._ ”

And wasn’t that just the truth. Bond isn’t Sherlock’s doctor. He doesn’t stay, and Q has no right to ask him to. But nonetheless there is something special about him, buried inside his DNA, and if Q were a very different sort of genius, he would quite enjoy taking him apart to see what made him tick.

 

Bond has always hung around MI6 when he has no mission to complete. Lately he seems to have decided Q-Branch is his new favourite place to be, and he flirts with the interns and harasses Q until Q snaps and kicks him out.

This process had been going on a week. Q was alone in Q-Branch at the moment, everyone else having gone home at a much more respectable point of the night while he stayed up in order to do his best to get 005 out of Belgium in one piece.

He heard grey-green footsteps behind him and sighed loudly, holding his hand out in the universal ‘fuck off, I’m busy’ sign. “What do you want, Bond? I don’t have time for your games right now,” he said as he typed.

“When did you last go home?” Bond drawled, leaning over Q’s shoulder to peer at the screen he was working on. The sound of his voice sent shivers through Q, more so even than the agent’s proximity. It was purple-blue tonight, with the slightest promise of silver streaked throughout.

“What day is it?”

“Friday,” Bond said with amusement.

It took Q a few moments to calculate the hours, which, more than anything Bond might say to him, was probably a sign that he ought to go home.

“Wednesday,” Q said finally. “But I got a few hours of sleep on one of the cots we stole from medical.”

“You need to go home,” Bond said flatly, pushing up off the table and walking around Q’s other side to sit in the extra chair there.

“No, I need to finish this. I’d rather not leave 005 stranded, though the thought has occurred to me. Give me twenty minutes and then I’ll pack up.”

“How are you even still standing?”

“I switched to coffee a few hours ago,” Q said, nodding at his mug. “It’s a shit drink, but it does the job. Why are you still here? Why are you here at this time of night at all?”

“Why not?” Bond asked with a shrug. “And I’m still here because if I leave your twenty minutes will turn into two hours. It would do no good for the minions to see you collapse in front of them.”

Q rolled his eyes, but did not comment as he followed 005’s tracker with his eyes.

There were a few minutes of silence, and then… “So, you and Moneypenny. How have the office gossips not caught hold of that one yet?”

Q jumped at the sudden noise, and made a small sound of irritation. “There’s nothing to catch hold of, Bond.”

“I am a secret agent, you know. I see these things. Or do you forget that I was there for your last movie night?”

“You’re a bit crap at this whole reading people thing. Might be getting a bit old for the job.”

Bond growled at that.

“And what you saw was two friends watching movies together. It’s nothing more than that. She’s not my type, anyway,” Q said with the ghost of a smile.

“So let’s pretend I buy that for even a second. What precisely would your type be?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Q said archly, typing in a few more numbers and grinning to himself. “And we’re through. Thank you for your company, 007. I’m going to grab my things from the other desk and leave now.”

Bond gave him a lazy wave as Q walked away.

When Q returned to his desk, Bond was gone. In his place sat a still warm mug of Earl Grey tea.

Q dreamed of blue eyes and purple-black promises with the barest hint of a smile on his face. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So, what colour am I?”
> 
> Q had been expecting this question for weeks. Everyone asked it sooner or later. Eve had asked almost immediately, and Q still remembered the vibrant copper of her laughter when he answered. But this was different, as was everything involving Bond. Q had almost forgotten what the word ‘simple’ actually meant.

“So, what colour am I?”

Q had been expecting this question for weeks. Everyone asked it sooner or later. Eve had asked almost immediately, and Q still remembered the vibrant copper of her laughter when he answered. But this was different, as was everything involving Bond. Q had almost forgotten what the word ‘simple’ actually meant.

“I’m actually a bit busy here. Don’t you have someone else you can harass?”

Bond shrugged and flipped idly through the papers on Q’s desk. “M said if I didn’t leave him alone, he’d put me on probation for a month. The rest of them are no fun. They don’t talk back.”

“It’s because they’re all scared of you, you twat,” Q snapped, yanking his papers away from Bond and neatly stacking them on the other side of the desk. “Have you _seen_ your psych evaluation?”

Bond chuckled, the sound sending dark red sparks down Q’s spine. “You could make me an exploding pen or give me something to test drive. It would get me out of your hair.”

“And have to move headquarters once again? I think not,” Q said coolly. “Please go elsewhere, Bond. Some of us have work to do.”

“Fine, but you’ll make it up to me later. Don’t think that I haven’t noticed that you didn’t answer my question. Bond rose, his fingers brushing along Q’s wrist as he stood.

Q stared after him for a long moment before returning his attention to the computer with a muffled curse.

 

Q had nearly forgotten Bond’s comment by the time he left Q-Branch. He was halfway down the hall, mind still lingering on codes and firewalls, when he saw the figure. He was in the shadows, positioned so that he was unlikely to be seen by the cameras, and Q’s brain automatically placed him as a threat. His fingers twitched on his hip toward a gun that was not present, and he tensed before taking a deep breath and continuing to walk. The figure shifted as he approached it, and Q struck out blindly with his fist. The man caught his arm easily, using the momentum to force Q up against the wall, pinning his arms above his head.

“Nice try, but next time you might want to consider something a little less obvious.”

Q’s breath caught in his chest as his brain rearranged the situation he had found himself in to realize that James Bond had him pinned up against the wall, that perfect voice low in his ear. Certain parts of his anatomy began to take great interest in the proceedings.

“What the hell are you doing? Apart from scaring me half to death.” Q attempted to yank his wrists free, but Bond’s grip just tightened. Q’s chest felt tight, and god, Bond just seemed intent on fuelling Q’s fantasies for the next week because he took a half step forward.

“You have a promise to come through on. I thought I’d wait for you to decide to go home and take you out to dinner because if I know you at all, you haven’t eaten since this morning, if that.” Apparently satisfied that Q was not going to run away or attempt to punch him again, Bond released his wrists and took a step back.

Q remained against his wall, crossing his arms in front of his chest as he attempted to regulate his breathing. “Do I actually have a choice in this?”

“No. I’d rather not kidnap you from the bowels of MI6, but I will if I have to.”

“Why Bond, I didn’t know you cared,” Q said snarkily, batting his eyelashes. “Threats of kidnapping make me so warm and fuzzy inside.”

“I thought they might,” Bond said with a smirk. “You’re not nearly as hard to figure out as you think you are, Quartermaster.”

Q scoffed at that and began walking down the hall.

“Would you like me to drive? I know you don’t have a car,” Bond offered as they stepped into the elevator.

Q froze briefly. “No, no. That’s alright. Why don’t we just walk?”

Bond turned to face Q, a puzzled look on his face. “You’re afraid to get in a car with me,” he said disbelievingly.

“It’s not you, Bond. But I _know_ what kind of cars you drive. I know every bloody thing that can go wrong with them.”

“So, what precisely would it take to get you in that car with me?” Bond asked curiously.

“A week to strip it down and rebuild it without the glaring mechanical errors.”

Bond shrugged and fished around in his pocket before pulling out a car key. He tossed it to Q. “Done. I’m not going to be needing it for at least a week, anyway. So, what’s within walking distance that’s halfway decent?”

Q stared at him in silence before stuttering out the names of a few restaurants.

They ended up in a small, quiet restaurant that Q was quite fond of. A waiter took their orders nearly right away, and Q and Bond sat in silence for a few moments before Bond leaned back, surveying Q over his martini.

“Who _are_ you?” He asked abruptly. “I accessed your file, but there was very little in it. Fair’s fair, after all. I know you’ve read mine.”

Q smirked at him and took a sip of his gin and tonic. “There is a benefit to being the one in change of the computers, you know.”

Bond made a face at him. “Tell me something. It’s strange to think of you as a person with a life and not just the voice in my ear.”

Q shrugged. “Don’t have much by way of a life, now. The work is everything. I was hired in my third year of uni. Despite whatever rumours my minions have been starting, I didn’t kill anyone with my brain or bring a government to its knees. I simply hacked into the MI6 server on a dare, just to prove that I could. They found me, brought me in, and M offered me a job. I took it.”

Bond smirked at Q, and shook his head disbelievingly. “You have this job because you broke into our servers on a dare? Who the _hell_ dared you to break into our servers?”

Q made a face and decided to tell Bond the truth. It would be a good marker, at least. If it repelled him, he obviously wouldn’t be interested in any of the fantasies that Q found hard to keep off his mind. “An old boyfriend. He thought the hacking was hot.” He smirked slightly, taking another sip of his drink to hide it.

Bond gave Q an appraising look and shrugged. “Can’t say I have any reason to disagree. Did you leave him for your numbers?”

Q made a face. “No, I left him when I walked in on him and the girl from two flats down together. And I may have ruined both their credit scores afterward, but that is both beside the point and none of your business.”

Bond raised one eyebrow. “God forbid I ever get on your bad side.”

Q shrugged. “I was young; credit card scores are easy to manipulate. Believe me; I can do much more damage now. Speaking of, I have work to do in the morning and would like a solid three hours of sleep between now and then.”

Bond shook his head and nodded at the waiter for the bill. “Sometimes I’m honestly not sure how you function.”

“Tea, and lots of sugar,” Q said with a grin. “Most of Q-Branch does. If England should ever run out of tea, the nation will surely fall.”

Bond walked Q to the door, ushering him out first. “Can I walk you home?”

“No. Your flat is in the other direction, and has it ever occurred to you that I might not want to let you know where I live?” Q knew that if he let James Bond walk him home, he would not be able to resist the temptation to invite him in. And if he did that…well.

“You say that as if I don’t already know where you live,” Bond said darkly.

Q shrugged and smirked at Bond. “Goodnight, 007. Thanks for dinner.”

“Goodnight, Q. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that you still owe me an answer.” Bond called after him, and Q simply waved a hand in response. He hadn’t forgotten. He just didn’t know how to answer, and he was growing increasingly sure that he never would. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter will be posted tomorrow or Sunday, depending on when my beta gets back to me. Hope y'all have a wonderful weekend.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Q woke up Sunday morning to the sound of someone in his kitchen. He carefully put his glasses on and grabbed the Taser out of his bedside table, sticking it in the back of his pyjama pants. He peered around the corner, then sighed in exasperation and walked out.
> 
> “007, what the hell are you doing in my house at seven in the bloody morning?”

Q woke up Sunday morning to the sound of someone in his kitchen. He carefully put his glasses on and grabbed the Taser out of his bedside table, sticking it in the back of his pyjama pants. He peered around the corner, then sighed in exasperation and walked out.

“007, what the hell are you doing in my house at seven in the bloody morning?”

Bond looked up at him, then went back to rummaging in the cupboards. “Well, I was going to make breakfast, but the lack of real food in your home is disturbing. Poptarts and canned soup, really? Are you sure you’re not actually still a college student?”

Q blinked at him once, then shook his head. “Please tell me that I’m dreaming and that you’re not actually standing here in my kitchen and harassing me.”

“Dream about me often, do you?” Bond asked, his low voice almost a growl, and Q shivered. It didn’t help that Bond, who Q had never seen in anything other than suits or workout wear, was dressed in a long sleeved grey shirt and jeans that showed off his arse.

“It is far too early for this,” Q proclaimed, and pushed past Bond to put the kettle on. He wrinkled his nose at the pot of coffee in the corner, and pulled a box of Earl Grey out of the cupboard.

“Nice pyjamas,” Bond said, and Q could practically hear his smirk.

“Don’t judge me, Bond. I have worn these flannel pants while bringing nations to their knees.”

“And the Taser?”

“You got past my security protocols and into my house. I had no idea who you were.” Q poured himself a cup of tea and moved to the counter in order to fire up his laptop. “And while I’m on the topic, I’d like to know how the hell you did that because if you can get in here, anyone can.”

“You’re crabby before you have your tea,” Bond noted before coming to lean on the counter next to Q. “Moneypenny gave me the key to your flat and directions on how to disable the security. Had she told me you would have no food, I would have brought muffins.”

Q glared at Bond over his mug. “Should have known Moneypenny would be the one to betray me. And what is your sudden obsession with feeding me up?”

“You’re a scrawny speck of a think who will be absolutely no use to me when you faint on the job because you’re sleep deprived and underfed.”

“I eat just fine, and I got four hours of sleep last night.”

“You couldn’t even land a proper punch on me when you thought I was an enemy in the hallway.”

Q’s eyes narrowed and then he grinned slowly, baring his teeth as he slowly stood up. And then, in a movement so fast even Bond had trouble tracking it, Q was pinning Bond to the floor, a feral smile on his face.

“I may not be as strong as you, Bond. God knows, I’ve been in positions where people have hurt me and I was unable to prevent it. But I will not have you doubting my competence. I can take care of myself, and despite what you think, I am not a defenceless computer geek in need of your protection.”

Having made his point, Q released Bond’s wrists and made to stand back up, a motion interrupted when Bond yanked Q back down, kissing him hard as he rolled them so that it was Bond pinning Q to the floor.

Any resolve Q still had about not getting involved with James Bond crumpled, and he kissed him back fiercely. Bond pulled away a moment later, sitting up and rolling to the side.

Q took a deep breath and sat up as well. “What exactly was that?”

“It’s called a kiss, Q. God, your boyfriends must not have known what they were doing.”

“I know it was a kiss, you fucker. Why the hell were you kissing me?”

“What can I say, I was impressed by your display of competence,” Bond drawled with a smirk, eyes slowly traveling up and down Q’s body.

Q sputtered for a moment and glared at Bond. “You’re a jerk.” He leaned in and kissed him hard on the mouth before standing up. “I’m going to go get dressed now.”

“Don’t bother on my account,” Bond said lazily. Q flipped him off and headed to the bedroom.

He emerged a few minutes later in jeans and a white shirt with a cardigan over it. Bond had moved from the floor and appeared to have found pancake mix somewhere deep in Q’s pantry, and was making pancakes on the stove.

“You’re still here,” Q said blankly.

Bond frowned at him. “Do you usually have people skip out on you when you turn your back?”

“A few times. I briefly considered putting automatic locks on my doors, but Moneypenny said it wasn’t worth the charges they would probably press. Loath as I am to admit it, I have to agree.”

Bond gave him a disbelieving look and frowned. “Idiots, all of them. I mean, look at you. For a scrawny git who dresses like he’s eighty, there’s something irresistible about you.” He slid a plate of pancakes toward Q and began working on his own.

“Thank you,” Q said automatically, collecting the syrup and pouring it liberally over his pancakes. “So, let me get this straight. You’re in my house. Making pancakes. After kissing me.”

“Yes?” Bond replied, pouring a much more reasonable amount of syrup on his own pancakes.

“Why?”

“Why not?” Bond said with a shrug. “I find you intriguing, Q. You talk back, make the best toys, and have more layers to you than I think anyone sees. You see colours, and you’ve proved you’re more than competent. It’s not as though I’ve got anything better to do at the moment than try to figure you out.”

“And is that what you’re here to do? Figure me out?”

“Actually, I was thinking of shagging you until you can’t work that brilliant brain of yours. I figure it’s going to take some time, so I wanted to start as soon as possible.”

Q licked a bit of syrup from his lips before bending down to press them against Bond’s. “We better get started then.”

 

“You never did tell me, you know.”

“Tell you what?” Q asked drowsily, tucking himself further into Bond’s side and pressing his lips to the older man’s shoulder.

“What colour you see when I talk.”

Q rolled over, straddling Bond and pressing his lips fiercely against the agent’s neck. “It’s complicated, though I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me by now. Everything is complicated once you get involved.” He paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts. “All of them. I see all the colours, separately and all at once.”

“And right now?”

Q leaned down, his lips brushing against Bond’s ear. “Silver, red, blue…” he scraped his teeth against Bond’s ear and the agent growled, flipping them over and effectively ending the conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been fun, guys. Thank you all for reading. I'm definitely planning on writing more in this universe sooner or later; I feel like there's still quite a bit to explore

**Author's Note:**

> I do not have any personal experience with Synaethesia. The kind I have portrayed Q as having is also referred to as Chromesthesia, and all of my information comes from Wikipedia and second-hand sources.  
> Beta'd by lemonadesummers11.


End file.
